Poetry Poem by fera nugroho
Poetry
things you write
while sitting under a tree
when falling leaves
kissing the breeze
and the green rice fields
be your bed of grief
but i would say
poetry is just words
created by unknown nerds
who write them on the aching hearts
then out print them on the crumpled souls
with ink of blood and tears
free verses
be read by freakish minds
no offense!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/24/2024 6:24:00 AM # 1.0.0.1119
